Das Gesellen zum Feind?
by Dautr abr du Sundavar
Summary: This is not going to be deleted. Instead, it's been adopted by Sapphire2309. :  See final chapter for details, and keep checking back - they might change.
1. Prologue: A Mad Scheme

**A/N: Alright, peeps, here 'tis! The long-awaited (not) Alex Rider fic from yours truly. Have fun and please don't flame!**

**Disclaimer: Okay, if I'm a theater _chick_, that implies I'm a girl, right? So why do I need to say that I am not Anthony Horowitz, who is a man and the owner of the Alex Rider series? I don't even own Jess; I don't approve of slavery.**

Prologue: A Mad Scheme

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The head of MI6 sat across from the woman in the pressed navy jacket. Neither of them spoke. The only sound in the room was that of their quiet breathing, punctuated occasionally by the crinkle of one of the woman's peppermint wrappers. Alan Blunt didn't comment on his subordinate's habit; he never did. It was just part of what made Mrs. Jones who she was.

Finally, Blunt broke the silence. He leaned forward on the mahogany table and remarked, "I think the young Mr. Rider has done quite well."

Mrs. Jones said nothing, merely raised an eyebrow.

"Don't you?" he pressed. "He took care of Sayle as well as any of our senior spies. There would have been nary a casualty, too, if Gregorovitch hadn't stepped in."

"The boy did well, yes," she responded. "But the key word in that sentence is 'boy'. He is a _child_, Alan!" She leaned toward him. "He shouldn't be asked to save the world."

Blunt frowned and protested, "We didn't ask him to save the world. And-"

"Yet," Mrs. Jones cut in. "We did ask him to save his country, though. I know you, Alan, and I also know that you won't stop there. You'll look at Alex and see someone qualified to stop World War Three, and you will blatantly ignore the fact that he is a _schoolboy_!"

Blunt calmly waited out her little speech. "Are you finished?" he asked quietly when she stopped speaking. Mrs. Jones glared briefly at him, and then nodded. "Good. Now, _as _I was saying," he paused to give her a sharp look, "he has done well, and I think we should look in to others."

Mrs. Jones stared blankly at him.

"Other _children_, preferably teenagers, who can go where adults can't. Children who have the training or natural ability - or both - to become spies." He plowed on, heedless of the look on Mrs. Jones' face that was equal parts shock and outrage. "Think about it: We have had numerous experiences where children could have managed something more quickly or unobtrusively than adults. And how many situations have we watched helplessly, knowing that if we had children, we could intervene?" Mrs. Jones opened her mouth, but Blunt held up a hand to quiet her. "Don't answer that; it was rhetorical." She started to speak, but again Blunt held up his hand.

"Listen, nobody ever expects, or suspects, children. They would be the perfect secret weapon. We would always have the element of surprise! Besides, if we needed multiple children for one mission, or we were running more than one separate mission that required young people, we would have them ready on hand! So, my dear -" he leaned forward further - "what do you think?"

For a moment, Mrs. Jones could only sputter. Finally, she took a deep breath and answered Blunt's question.

"What do I think?" she said through gritted teeth. "What do I _think_? I _think_ you've taken leave of your senses!" Her voice rose to a shout as she spoke.

"These are _children_ we're talking about here, Alan, real people! Not just expendable pieces on a chessboard! This isn't a game - you know that as well as I do - and people are not pawns to be manipulated!" She actually rose from her seat in her passion.

"These are real people, with real lives! We can't just walk up to them and say, 'Come on, leave your family, your friends, your home, and all you've ever known just to come be trained to do work that could well be the gruesome and untimely death of you on the off chance that you can help us!' I tell you -" she leaned forward on her knuckles, and her voice became deadly quiet - "if you go through with this half-brained idea, this mad scheme, of yours, you're no better than the people we fight; because you prove that you will stop at nothing to further your cause. Now give me one reason - one _good_ reason - for me to support you in this." She straightened, folded her arms, and awaited his answer.

It was not quick in coming. Blunt sat silently for quite some time, seeming to discard idea after idea in pursuit of one that would persuade her. Finally, he looked up from the point on the table at which he had been staring for the past five minutes, looked her square in the eyes, and spoke.

"We need them," he said simply. Mrs. Jones began to speak, but he merely held up his hand for silence. "Please, hear me out." She shut her mouth reluctantly, sat down, and glared at him, which he took as a sign to continue."Our enemies will expect adults. Why, even _I_ would expect adults. And because of that, we need children. It will keep our enemies on their toes, and possibly even sow the seeds of uncertainty that would blossom into discord. Now, I'll admit, this is a best-case scenario; I don't even want to think about the worst-case." Mrs. Jones snorted at that, but otherwise remained silent. Blunt took that as a good sign.

"Listen, children like Alex Rider don't appear often. We might find children with the physical training, but not the psychological aptitude. Or vice versa. And even if we find someone who meets both the physical and mental requirements for spy, everyone needs something to fight for. Not everyone has that. Alex had his uncle's death to avenge and his mission to finish. Not everybody has such things. Street kids, for example, tend to be strong enough and smart enough to be spies. But they lack motivation. They won't want to fight for a country that forced them into the hard lives they live. We need people - and not just children, adults, too - with that drive. People like that...people who are cunning and smart; people who are strong and athletic; people with someone or something worth fighting for, worth protecting…they're rare. So if, by some miracle, we found such a child, who would be willing to work with us - would you support me? Will you stand by me in this?"

Mrs. Jones took a minute to consider his words, allowing them to paint a picture in her mind, before responding. "A pretty speech," she said slowly. With a rueful sigh, she added, "Effective, too. I'll stand by you, as you put it, on one condition."

"And what might that be, my dear?"

"Don't send them into any situation where their lives are likely to be endangered."

Blunt considered her words briefly before replying, "Every spy who takes on a mission puts his or her life at risk. You know that."

"I do," Mrs. Jones said. "I just -" she paused for a moment to gather her thoughts. "I guess what I'm saying is that I just don't want them in more danger than necessary."

Blunt nodded. "I understand. So, are we agreed?"

This time Mrs. Jones hesitated only a moment before answering.

"Yes."

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**A/N: *is jumping up and down* Well? Didja like it? Huh huh huh? Didja didja didja? Review, pretty pretty pretty please!**

**I can't thank authorEmilyRay enough for being my beta for this! She thrashed out a lot of details for me, mostly grammatical *looks sheepish* but also issues with characters, and really made this story what it is. Thankies sososososo much!**

**So who is Jess? Why did Blunt even propose this "half-brained idea, this mad scheme"? And why the heck is Mrs. Jones agreeing to it? *cue dramatic music* Read on and find out.**


	2. Chapter One: The Ritual

**A/N: Ta-da! Chapter one! I am so sorry it took so long to get up, but these little things called "life" and "school" got in the way. =)**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Alex Rider**

Chapter One: The Ritual

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"Jessica Rhiannon Fox, get your butt out here this instant! Your food is getting cold!"

Jess sighed and reached for her bookmark. "Coming!" she yelled, keeping her eyes firmly riveted on her book.

She felt around her for her bookmark, then found it. Closing her book, she took a moment to rest her eyes. Then she stood and stretched, turning off her stereo in the same motion. Mentally bracing herself for what she knew was coming, she left her room to go to dinner.

oOo

Sitting at the table with her aunt, Jess kept her eyes soldily locked onto her food. She just wanted to get done so she wouldn't have to endure any questions. Some nights she could get away with that. This night, however was not to be one of those nights.

"So what did you do today, Jessica?" came the query from the other side of the small table.

Jess slowly put down her fork and deliberately chewed her bite before answering. "The usual," she answered. Her aunt's eyes narrowed, so she elaborated. "Read, listened to music..." she shrugged. "The usual."

"What were you reading about today?"

Jess arched an eyebrow. "Do you _really_ want me to tell you, Aunt Lynn?" She knew her aunt would say no, but it was all part of the ritual.

Her aunt sighed and said, "No. Not really."

"Didn't think so," Jessica replied, completing the routine.

The two ate in silence for several more minutes before Lynn spoke.

"Why do we do this?"

"Do what?" Jess asked innocently. She knew what the answer would be, but didn't want to give it credibility by saying it herself.

Lynn gestured vaguely with her fork. "All this - the asking, the answers we have memorized..." she shrugged helplessly. "This."

Jess frowned thoughtfully. "Maybe-" she hesitated, still ordering her thoughts. "Maybe because this is the only time of day when we really see each other."

It was true. Lynn was away at work all day, leaving Jess at home. At fourteen, she was more than capable, but she still wished not to be alone. She never said anything, though, her pride refusing to admit it.

Lynn was nodding slowly. "Yeah. Maybe." But she didn't seem convinced.

The rest of the meal passed in silence.

oOo

As the pair were cleaning up, Lynn turned to Jessica and announced, "We're going shopping tomorrow."

Jess stared at her, thinking her aunt had finally lost it. "What?"

"We. Are going. Shopping."

"Um, maybe you've forgotten, but I don't _do_ shopping."

Lynn shook her head doggedly. "You will tomorrow."

"But _why_?" Jess didn't mean to sound like a whiny five-year-old, but she couldn't help it.

Lynn scowled. "Because summer's coming, and you need new clothes. You're growing like a weed, girl! Tomorrow is Saturday, so it won't be a problem. And you're right; we don't really see much of each other. So we are going to go shopping, and you are going to get new summer clothes."

Jessica sighed, letting it be her response. _I hate being right_, she thought.

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**A/N: So, this chapter was pretty much just meeting Jess, getting to know her, yada yada. Sorry it's so short. You like? Review! I really appreciate alerts and faves, but reviews=love!**


	3. Chapter Two: No!

**A/N: Chappie two! Jess and Lynn are going shopping...what could possibly happen?**

**Disclaimer: If I owned Alex Rider or Sears, I would be a heck of a lot richer.**

Chapter Two: No!

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"No!"

Jessica slowly backed away, hands held protectively in front of her, shaking her head and repeating, "No, no, no, no, no, no, no!" She hit a wall, and only then did she stop.

"Why not?"

"It's _pink._"

"So?"

"I don't _wear_ pink."

"But Jess-"

"No!"

Jess and her aunt were currently in the juniors department of the local Sears. Lynn was trying to convince Jess to buy a bright pink T-shirt – which Jess adamantly refused to do.

"Jessica, the only colors you wear besides black are _bright_ colors. This shirt is practically searing my retinas – which you seem to enjoy – so I don't see why you won't-"

"It's _pink_," Jess interrupted through gritted teeth. "I _hate_ pink."

"But Jess, honey, you used to wear pink all the time!"

"Yes, when I was _younger_ and didn't have a _choice_," she retorted, still eying the shirt warily. "Now I do have a choice, and I'm choosing no."

"Jess, look, if you'd just-"

"_No!_" Jess kept her eyes glued to the shirt as if it was threatening to bite her.

Lynn sighed, defeated. "Fine. I can't make you, can I?" She put the offending shirt back on the rack.

Jess relaxed somewhat. "Aunt Lynn, I'm sorry, but I just don't like pink. Green? Blue? Red? Great. Purple? Eh...if it's the right shade. But _not_ pink."

"I understand," Lynn said. She started pawing through the rack for another shirt. "I wasn't a fan of pink when I was your age, although-" she shot an irked glance at her niece- "I never reacted _quite_ so violently."

Jess grinned easily, unimpressed by Lynn's glare. "Aunt Lynn, you've never done anything violent in your life."

"And a good thing for you, too," Lynn grumbled from the depths of the clothes rack, "or you'd most likely be dead by now, what with all the grief you caused me."

Jessica's smile faded. "Grief, indeed," she said quietly.

"What was that?" Lynn asked, emerging from the rack only to move on to a shelf behind her.

Jessica hesitated. "Nothing."

"Mmm," came Lynn's distracted agreement. "What do you think about this?" she asked, turning around and holding up a neon green tank top. "It's sort of garish, but I think it-"

Whatever she thought about the shirt was lost in a sudden crack that rang through the store, followed by several screams.

"What the-" Jessica nearly swore, but remembered her aunt's presence just in time.

"Run to the doors, Jessica." Lynn's voice was deceptively calm. "Go!"

She obeyed. She heard her aunt's footsteps close behind her as she dashed toward the exit. Cracks – which sounded a lot like gunshots – and screams rang out with terrifying frequency, urging her to greater speeds.

Finally, she reached the door. The automatic opener was much too slow for her liking – some of the shots sounded closer. When the door was open enough, she dashed through, getting out of the direct path of the door before skidding to a stop and turning around.

She looked inside only to see her aunt lying facedown in a rapidly growing pool of blood.

oOo

Ten minutes later, she watched, a silent sentinel, as her aunt and several others were loaded into ambulances. Thankfully, a store employee had had the presence of mind to call 999, and the police and several ambulances had come within minutes. Jess felt that it was too late, though – her aunt looked pale enough to be dead already. She stood watching long after the ambulance carrying Lynn had driven away.

Eventually, she became aware of someone standing next to her. She turned, startled, to find a man looking in the same direction she had been staring. At the sound of her shoes scraping the pavement, he faced her.

"Hello," he said simply.

"Hi," Jess slowly replied, all of Lynn's lectures about strangers running through her head.

He seemed to sense it. "You don't need to be afraid of me," he said reassuringly. When she raised a doubtful eyebrow, he smiled and gestured around the parking lot. "Look around; there's open space, lots of people – though not enough that anyone is really obscured – and I think that employee is keeping her eye on you." He pointed to the one he meant.

Despite herself, Jessica followed his finger. A twenty-something Sears employee was indeed looking at her. When Jess made eye contact with the woman, she pointed to Jess, then brought  
her thumb and forefinger together, forming a circle, while fanning her other three fingers: "You okay?"

Jess hesitated, then nodded. She gave a thumbs-up, then held her index finger up: "I'm fine. Wait a moment?" The woman gave a thumbs-up back. Only then did Jessica decide to talk to the man. She turned to face him again.

"Who are you?" she asked bluntly, folding her arms.

"My name is Crawley," he replied. "I work for the Royal and General bank – perhaps you've heard of it?"

Jess shook her head. "If you're here to pitch your services, I don't want 'em."

Crawley smiled. "I'm not here to 'pitch' you anything. I wish to talk to you about your aunt."

Jess felt the blood leave her face. "What about her?"

"I'm just concerned that you won't be able to pay for her hospitalization. See, when something like this happens, hospitals get in touch with insurance companies, and insurance companies get in touch with their dependents. However, if the paying dependent is the one in the hospital - and there is concern over their ability to cover the cost the insurance company does not - the insurance company gets in touch with the paying dependent's bank to confirm their concerns. If the dependent cannot pay, it's the bank's job to essentially cajole the defendant's family into coughing up the extra cash – so to speak."

"What?"

Crawley frowned thoughtfully and said, "Okay, forget all the details. To put it simply, your aunt's hospitalization is a special case, and insurance companies don't like special cases. In this case, to use the word once more, your aunt's insurance company contacted her bank - the bank I work for - and essentially asked us to find a way to make her family cover the cost of her hospitalization."

As Jess processed Crawley's words, she felt like fainting. "But...I'm the only family she has..." she whispered.

Crawley nodded, saying, "Precisely why I need to speak with you."

Jess bit her lip. This guy seemed legitimate, but these days it was hard to tell. She tossed her head to get a stray clump of hair out of her eyes, and asked Crawley point-blank: "How do I know you're telling the truth?"

Crawley looked uncertain. "You can't," he replied, equally frank, "but I hope you will trust me."

Jessica hesitated again. "Okay," she said at length. "But I'm not going anywhere in any sort of vehicle with you."

Crawley smiled. "I wouldn't expect anything less from a well-raised girl."

Jessica wondered just what she had gotten herself into.

oOo

The unlikely pair walked across London in a tense silence. Jessica kept herself alerted for any sign of duplicity from Crawley, while he seemed almost irritated with her for doing so. Finally, they came to a building on Liverpool Street, where Crawley turned to go inside.

Jessica hesitated. It was only common sense to not get in a vehicle with someone you didn't know, but her aunt's various lectures had never dealt with buildings. Crawley waited for her at the door, looking impatient. Eventually, she gave a mental shrug and followed him, deciding that there had to be people within scream range inside.

Crawley led her across a dim lobby to a row of elevators. He hit the call button for one, and the door opened almost immediately. He gestured her inside, and she paused only a moment before complying. He hit the button for the fifteenth floor, and they ascended smoothly.

On the seventeenth floor, two people had watched the whole thing. The man now let out a low whistle. "I don't know whether to be impressed or disappointed," he remarked.

"Why do you say that?" the woman asked him.

"She followed him inside, barely hesitated. She came here with him in the first place. She's either very clever or very naïve."

"She could be neither," the woman whispered, so quietly the man could pretend to not have heard.

Nevertheless, he responded. "She could be."

The elevator doors opened. "Here we are," Crawley announced. He stepped out of the elevator, and Jessica followed, her eyes darting around the hallway. Crawley was already two doors down the hall.

"Where are we going?" Jess asked, still standing in front of the elevator.

"Just to my office," Crawley explained. "There are some sensitive documents there I couldn't bring with me."

"Why not?"

"She definitely doesn't waste words," mused the man on the seventeenth floor.

"For the same reason you are hesitant to trust me." Crawley answered Jessica's question with enough frankness in his tone to make her inclined to believe him. She paused a moment longer before nodding and following him.

Before she reached him, a door opened halfway down the hall. A man walked out, carrying a folder tucked under his arm. He closed the door carefully before turning. When he caught sight of Jessica, his eyes grew wide. He quickly stepped across the hall into another room and shut the door behind him.

Jessica frowned at his behavior. "Who was that?" she asked Crawley.

"Another employee." Was it her imagination, or did his voice seem strained?

A small frown appeared on Jessica's face, though she tried to hide it. "So what's in there?"

"Just a bunch of filing cabinets." Yes, his voice was definitely strained. "Here we are." Now there was relief instead of stress.

He opened the next door and ushered her into an office, presumably his. She glanced around as she walked in. Bland, impersonal, and boring. This office could have been anyone's.

"Please, have a seat." Crawley gestured her toward a chair in front of the desk, and she sat. "Would you like anything to drink?" he asked.

"I'm fine, thanks." In fact, she was a bit thirsty, but she was slightly put off by Crawley's over-accommodating attitude. He sat across the desk from her and started rummaging through the drawers. After a couple minutes, he straightened with a pleased exclamation.

"Sorry," he told her. "I thought I put this in a different drawer." She nodded her acceptance of his apology. "Now," he continued, businesslike, "we-" A ringing phone cut him off.

He answered it with a raised finger and apologetic look. He seemed to mostly listen, saying "Yes, sir" before hanging up. He faced her once more. "I'm very sorry, Miss bank president wants to see me, and I'm afraid he's just not the kind of man you say 'no' to." He rose from his seat. "I should only be five minutes. Do you mind waiting?"

"No." In truth, Jessica wanted to see if she could get into the "filing office" down the hall. Five minutes should be enough time.

Crawley nodded to her. "Thank you, Miss Fox." He walked briskly out the door, shutting it behind him.

Jessica waited for his footsteps to recede, then sat for a few seconds more, just to be safe. Then she got up and went to the door.

She eased it open with the utmost care. It opened toward the inside, so she would have an unobstructed view of the hallway. However, anyone outside would be able to see the rectangle of light before she saw the person.

The hallway was empty.

Moving as fast as she dared, Jessica slipped out the door. Turning to the left, she darted down the hall. Upon reaching her destination, she tried the door handle. Locked. She frowned, disconcerted. _That's weird._ But she wasted no more thought on it. With a glance at her watch, she reached up and removed two of the hair grips she had used to pin up her bangs that morning. She straightened the pins out, then inserted one end – the flat end – of each into the doorknob. Carefully, she picked the lock.  
When it clicked three minutes later, she blessed her nosiness and her uncle with his locked gun cabinet. She twisted the knob, and it turned all the way. She allowed the door to drift open while she stuck the now-useless pins in her pocket. She glanced at her watch. _One minute._ There was more time than that, of course, but she needed to be back in Crawley's office before he returned. Pushing the door open the rest of the way, she slipped into the room, holding the doorknob so it didn't click when she shut the door.

When she turned from the door, her eyes met, not filing cabinets, but another office. She frowned. Why had Crawley lied to her? There wasn't a single filing cabinet in sight. There was, however, a computer on the desk.

She moved briskly over to it, pushing the button to power it up before she even reached the keyboard. She knew her time was limited, and she wanted to do as much snooping as possible before leaving.

The computer's welcome screen faced her. She clicked on the only name, and it asked for a password. She smirked. No mere password was going to keep her out of that computer. Squashing the small, protesting voice in the back of her mind, she hit a few keys in rapid succession. Fifteen seconds later, the desktop appeared.

Jessica's eyebrows climbed higher on her forehead with every file and folder name she read. _Poison Mutations: Cyanide, Thallium, Atropine_.._African Uranium Movement_..._Russian Mafia report_...nothing sounded like documents that would be on a bank executive's desk. She was about to click on one when the door opened.

She jumped. _Busted_. Surprisingly, though, neither of the men who had come through the door – one of whom was Crawley – asked her what she was doing. Instead, the strange man said, "Come with us, please."

"Who are you?" Jessica whispered. "You're no bank, so don't bother with that story. _Who are you?_"

Crawley sighed and said, "I'm sorry, Miss Fox. Your question is valid, but I'm afraid we're not allowed to give you answers. Now please-" the strange man raised a gun- "come with us."

Jess slowly raised her hands to shoulder height. "Or what? You'll shoot me?" she said defiantly. Despite the bravado in her voice, she kept her eyes firmly on the gun barrel.

"Only if you're uncooperative," was Crawley's decidedly un-reassuring answer.

Jess hesitated a moment more, rapidly weighing her options. Realizing she had none – at least, none that were particularly appealing – she chose the least unpleasant one and nodded sharply. "Fine," she said as she stepped out from behind the desk.

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**A/N: Duhn duhn duuuhn...What's going to happen to Jess? What sort of grief did she cause her aunt? Read on to find out!**

**P.S. I love reviews! They make my day! Don't you want to make me happy? *pouty face* :D**


	4. Chapter Three: What Do You Say?

**A/N: Chapter three! Blunt has Jess in his vile clutches. What's she gonna do? And how far will he go in order to secure her service?**

**Disclaimer: You know what? I'm going to be really bad and not put a disclaimer on this chapter. Cuz I'm pretty sure you all know by now that I don't own the Alex Rider conglomerate of stuff. Oops, that's disclaiming. Whatever.**

Chapter Three: What Do You Say?

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Sixteen floors and one extremely awkward elevator ride later, Crawley ushered Jess into an underground parking garage. He led her and the armed man – whose name, according to Crawley, was Marshall – to a nondescript car, virtually identical to its neighbours, and gestured her to get inside. She did so, fastening her seatbelt as Marshall shut her door with a sense of finality. Crawley got in the front, and Marshall sat behind the wheel.

"Where are we going?" Jess asked as Marshall started the car.

"Away from here," was Crawley's decidedly unhelpful reply.

Jess sighed, realizing that there was nothing she could say or do to make Crawley explain. Instead, she settled herself to look out the window as London passed by. She felt her eyelids droop. She had been running purely on adrenaline for a while, and the letdown was getting to her. She fully intended to stay awake and keep an eye on what was going on, but her eyes were burning...and she was so tired...

The next thing she knew, she was jerking awake as the car turned onto a roughly paved driveway. She sat up, disoriented. The sudden action must have caught Crawley's eye through the rear-view mirror, because he turned to face her and smiled. "Nice nap?" he inquired casually.

She simply glared at him.

Crawley sighed. "Are you ever going to trust me, Miss Fox?" he asked, seeming genuinely upset.

"Probably not," she replied bluntly.

He gave a wry grin. "Ah, well, at least you're honest about it," he said as the car came to a stop.

Jess looked out the window. There wasn't anything very impressive in the immediate vicinity, not that she could see. The only structure was a house that looked, to her, like it belonged in the Elizabethan era. Surrounding it was enough open space to tell her that she was kilometers from any city.

"Where are we?" she asked as she got out of the car.

"I'm not sure if I'm allowed to tell you that," Crawley replied.

Jess whipped around to glare at him again. "Why not?" she demanded.

Crawley sighed and ran a hand through his short hair. "You'll see once we get inside."

Jess scowled, but followed his lead and walked to the door. He punched a code into a keypad by the door, which buzzed quietly and opened. Crawley swept through, Jess hard on his heels. He led her through several hallways, finally stopping to knock on a heavy-looking door.

"Come," a man's voice replied curtly.

Crawley opened the door just enough to stick his head inside. "I have Jessica Fox for you, sir," he said.

"Send her in." Jess frowned; this speaker was a woman. How many people were in there?

Crawley nodded sharply, stepped back into the hallway, and gestured with a sweep of his hands for Jess to go inside. She did so, and found herself faced with a dark room, paneled with deep brown wood and carpeted in royal blue. A reddish-brown table with wooden chairs arrayed around it sat in the dead center of the room. Seated at the table were two people. One, a woman, was dark-skinned and rather masculine. The other, a man, could be summed up in one word: grey – grey suit, grey hair, even grey lips. Jess took all this in as Crawley shut the door.

"Sit down, please, Jessica – may I call you Jessica?" said the man.

Jess nodded and moved to a chair. "Sure," she said.

The man waited until she was seated before saying, "My name is Alan Blunt. This-" he indicated the woman, sitting on his right- "is Mrs. Jones. We-"

"You work for the government," Jess interrupted. "Don't you?"

Alan Blunt blinked. "Yes, I – How did you know that?"

Jess smiled thinly. "Lucky guess." When Blunt raised an eyebrow, she reluctantly elaborated, "And the Internet is very informative."

"You can't believe everything you read, especially on the Internet," Blunt replied.

Jess' smile widened slightly. "You can if you know how to look."

Blunt opened his mouth, but Mrs. Jones cut him off. "What else do you know – or think you know?" she said.

Jess unconsciously dropped her gaze as she thought. "Not much, honestly," she said a moment later, making eye contact with her companions once more. "I know that you work for some big, top-secret government agency, and you're both covered in red tape – metaphorically speaking."

Blunt blinked. "Yes, well...anyway. It is true that we both work for the government; it is also true that what we do is not to be bandied about."

Jess chuckled slightly. "What do you do – aliens?"

"No." That was Mrs. Jones. She continued, "You're a smart girl, Jessica; I'm sure you can figure it out." The last words were accompanied by a small smile.

Jess scowled. "Oh, I will." With that, she dropped her gaze to the table, her mind rapidly processing all the facts and drawing a conclusion from them. Her head snapped up as she voiced what she had reasoned.

"You're spies."

Mrs. Jones' smile widened. "Very good, but not quite."

"I don't get it."

Blunt jumped back into the conversation. "We lead spies. I am the head of MI6 – I assume you know what that is?" When Jessica nodded, he continued, "Good. As I said, I am the leader, and Mrs. Jones is my second-in-command. Now-"

"That's all well and good," Jess cut in once more, "but what the heck does any of this have to do with me?"

Blunt's expression never changed, but there was a scowl in his voice as he said, "I'm getting there, if you would stop talking." Jess glared furiously at him, but remained silent. "Thank you. Now, you are here because, frankly-" he took a deep breath, as if preparing to deliver unpleasant news- "we need your help."

For a moment, the room was perfectly silent. Then Jess managed to say, "_You?_ Need _my_ help?" Her incredulous tone bordered on laughter.

"Yes, we do," Mrs. Jones answered calmly. She reached down to the floor, rummaged with something, and then sat up with a piece of paper in her hand. A photograph, Jess noticed. Mrs. Jones laid the picture on the table, facing Jess, and asked, "Do you recognize this man?"

Jess studied the face captured on the paper. The man was tall, as evidenced by the relative heights of the people surrounding him. He had red hair and penetrating blue eyes. Jess frowned and slowly shook her head. "No, I can't say I do."

"His name is Dorian Roberts," Mrs. Jones explained. "He operates a small publishing company in Spain."

"And you're showing me his picture because..." Jess trailed off, letting the question remain unspoken.

Mrs. Jones glanced at Blunt, who took his cue. "We feel he may be doing things that are not exactly in our best interest," he explained. "Suffice it to say that we believe he needs an eye kept on him."

"And why do you need me to do that? I'm assuming that's why we're having this conversation."

"It is. Sending in an adult would be impossible, as Roberts is paranoid about such things. However, he lets children move about with relative freedom."

"That's weird."

Blunt almost smiled. "That it is. I must stress, though, that he does so very rarely. Preparations must be made in advance, and he only accepts school groups. Two more children will make no difference to him, and-"

"Two children?"

Blunt sighed in exasperation. "Why do you keep interrupting me?"

"Maybe because I have something to say," Jess retorted.

Blunt pressed his lips together before answering. "To answer your question, yes, two children. You will have a partner on this mission – that is, if you accept it."

Both he and Mrs. Jones gazed at her expectantly. Jess realized that she was being asked – no, told – to make a decision, and make it fast. She bit her lower lip and remained silent for several heartbeats. Finally, she looked up and firmly said, "No."

"Very well," Blunt replied. There was no acceptance in his tone, however. Instead, there was a cold, almost angry edge to his words. He continued, "You may go, then."

Jess blinked. "Just like that?"

"Just like that."

She hesitated, then slowly rose from her seat. "Sorry to disappoint you," she said, even though she wasn't. "I just don't think a kid should be a spy, especially not me." With that, she turned and walked purposefully toward the door. She literally had her hand on the knob when Blunt called, "Jessica?"

She turned to face him. "Yes?"

"Good luck," he said simply.

Jess frowned. "With what?"

Blunt affected a vague look of surprise. "Why, paying for the hospitalization of your aunt, of

course."

Jess felt herself grow pale, and it took all her willpower to stand steady. "What do you mean by that?" she asked hoarsely, her throat being suddenly dry.

"I mean that you don't have the money to pay for it, do you?"

Jess nodded slowly. "That's right."

"Well..." Blunt hesitated, seeming unwilling to voice what was on his mind. Mrs. Jones, Jess noted, seemed uncomfortable with the direction the conversation was taking.

In a flash, Jess realized what Blunt was doing. "This is blackmail," she hissed furiously.

"What do you mean?" Blunt actually had the nerve to seem shocked.

"You're saying that if I don't help you, I'll be left to fend for myself," Jess growled, slowly walking back to the table. Her voice rose as she continued. "You say that _knowing_ full well that it'll be impossible to pay for it without putting us both on the streets. This-" she reached the table and slapped her hands on the surface, lowering her voice to a rage-filled whisper- "is blackmail."

Blunt remained as placid as ever during her tirade. "Perhaps," he said. "It depends on your point of view. Now, are you going to help us, or not?"

Jess dropped heavily into a chair. "Fine. What, exactly, are you going to do?"

Despite his never-changing expression, Blunt had the air of a self-satisfied cat. "Very good. However, it's not exactly a question of what _we_ will do, but of what _you_ will do. You will receive basic training for three weeks, after-"

"Three _weeks?_" Jess interrupted, her voice going up at the end. "I can't leave my aunt in the _hospital_ for _three weeks!_

"You can, and you will," Blunt said coldly. "Rest assured, she will be taken care of."

Jess glared at him, furious and disbelieving, and opened her mouth to protest – or, more accurately, curse him out. He headed her off, though, saying "Thank you" as if she had agreed. He continued, "Now, after you have been trained, you will meet your partner. Then the two of you will depart for Spain, where you will investigate Dorian Roberts and – if necessary – bring him down. Do you understand?"

Jess scowled. "Fine. Get trained, meet my partner-in-crime, get shipped off to Spain, get killed, all the while wondering whether or not the woman who raised me is still alive. Yeah, I got it."

Blunt sighed heavily. "Are you always this way?"

Jess pretended to mull the question over. "Pretty much," she said with no repentance whatsoever. "When do I start the 'get trained' portion of this oh-so-wonderful scheme of yours?"

"As soon as possible," Blunt replied, ignoring the jibe. "We are actually on the grounds of one of the SAS training centers. Their tactics are similar to ours; it makes sense to share instructors."

"Whatever," Jess said flippantly. Secretly, though, she viewed the coming three weeks with dread. Anything designed to toughen already-tough adults was certain to be a living nightmare for a fourteen-year-old girl.

"Do you have any questions?" Mrs. Jones asked.

"Yeah, actually," Jess responded. "Why me? I mean, what made you pick me for this? What drew your attention to me?"

Mrs. Jones smiled slightly in amusement. "Never let it be said that you don't ask a question thoroughly," she said before answering. "What drew our initial attention was your school records."

"What school records?" Jess interrupted before realizing her slip. "Sorry, bad habit," she added.

"No matter. Although you were homeschooled, your yearly test scores were kept on file."

"I see."

"Good. Now, a person who graduates from high school at age twelve-"

"I was almost thirteen," Jess interrupted.

Mrs. Jones raised an eyebrow at the interruption, but nodded her acceptance of the distinction. "In any case, one who graduates so young must be extraordinary. However, we had to look deeper than that. So we dredged up everything we could on you – you'd probably be surprised by how much we found," she added as an afterthought.

"Go on," Jess said impatiently when Mrs. Jones paused.

Blunt answered instead. "I must say, Miss Fox, your gymnastics records are quite impressive. You must be very good."

_Talk about a non sequitur,_ she couldn't help but think. "I try my best," she replied aloud, a little disconcerted. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"If you will give me a chance, I will explain." Blunt glared at Jess until she mimed locking her lips and throwing away the key. "Thank you. We recognized that with such records, along with your school scores, you would most likely have the skills necessary to – pull off this mission," he continued. Jess thought that he wasn't originally going to say "pull off" – she was pretty sure he meant "survive." He continued, "Does that answer your question?"

"Yeah." As she said the word, another query occurred to her. "But I have another one."

Blunt sighed. "What is it?"

Jess bit back a smirk. "When – exactly – do I start?"

Blunt seemed vaguely irritated, though with his never-changing expression it was hard to tell.

"Fifteen minutes."

* * *

**A/N: Well? Review, pretty pretty please, and tell me how bad this chapter was! Or, preferably, how good it was. :D**

**I am sosososososososososoooo sorry this took so freakin' long! I've had this written for a while, but I had some issues and couldn't publish it without it being betaed, so – I'm really sorry. Forgive me? *holds arms out for a hug***

**Many thanks to Khushbu Salazar for beta reading this chapter!**


	5. Chapter Four: Brecon Beacons

**A/N: Chapter four! Jess is being trained. What could possibly go wrong?**

**Disclaimer: Lessee here...Human? Check – I think. Male? Nope. So I don't own Alex Rider.**

Chapter Four: Brecon Beacons

* * *

Jess was given combat fatigues, then taken to meet the sergeant who would be supervising her training. For several minutes, the sergeant merely stood in front of her – sizing her up, she was certain. Finally, he scowled and began pacing a short line in front of Jess.

"Listen up, girlie," the sergeant growled. "It's not my place to tell the higher-ups what to do. But if it was, I would tell them to get their heads on straight. First they send in a boy. Okay, I tell myself. Not an ideal situation, but the kid can take care of himself. But _now_-" he stopped pacing and faced her directly- "they send me a _girl_. Now, you can call me sexist or ageist all you want, girlie, but I don't believe that you belong here. This is a place for adults and special exceptions, and I do not believe you warrant a special exception. Do I make myself clear?"

Throughout the sergeant's brief tirade, Jess had clenched her teeth tighter and tighter. Now, she loosened her jaw and replied, "Yes, sir. May I speak freely?"

The sergeant almost looked vaguely surprised, but quickly replied nodded the affirmative.

She took a quick, bracing breath, then said, "I do not..._appreciate_...being called 'girlie.' Sir," she added after a brief pause.

She thought she saw a smile flit across the sergeant's face, but it was gone so fast she easily could have imagined it. As she thought this, the sergeant responded to her announcement by saying, "Prove you don't deserve it."

"Yes, sir."

The sergeant assigned her to Q-Unit, took her to the hut where she would be spending the next three weeks, and left her there to become acquainted with the rest of her unit – four women who came across as being as different from each other as any four women could be.

The most outgoing woman – a petite redhead with hazel eyes – introduced herself as Jackal. "Not what I would have picked," she said, making a face, "but it'll do."

Jackal pointed around the small room, naming each other woman. "That's Hawk-" a muscular woman with brown hair and black eyes, disassembling and reassembling a pistol- "Leopard-" a wiry woman, black-haired and blue-eyed, lounging on her cot and reading a book- "and Falcon." The last woman was blond, with blue eyes, like Jess. However, Falcon's hair was more golden, and her eyes a deeper blue. At her name, she glanced up from whatever she was doing – she was sitting hunched over – and smiled at Jess before returning her attention to whatever was in front of her. "So what's your name, dear?" asked Jackal.

Jess flushed. "Mouse," she mumbled.

Jackal raised an eyebrow, but only said, "That man has a strange sense of humor. Don't let it get to you."

Realizing she spoke of the sergeant, Jess smiled. "I'll remember that."

oOo

Over the next twenty-one days, Jess was put through more torture than she had ever imagined. Her fifth night there, after a particularly rough afternoon on the obstacle course, she laid on her cot and winced as Jackal applied antibiotic cream and bandages to the back of Jess' calves.

"There goes my dream of being a soldier," Jess mumbled.

She could hear the smile in Jackal's voice as she replied, "Look at it this way: If you ever get enlisted, you won't have to go through this." She patted Jess' leg gently, telling her she could sit up.

Jess complied, saying, "Oh, yes, I will. They're all sadists. They _enjoy_ watching people suffer."

Jackal grinned. "Watch your mouth, Jerry. They're watching...and _listening_..."

Jess laughed, both at the nickname and Jackal's joking statement. "Why do you call me that?" she asked as Jackal moved to her own cot.

"What, Jerry?" Jess nodded. "I guess because you kind of remind me of that old cartoon character. And it's better than just calling you 'Mouse' all the time." She leaned back on her bunk with a contented sigh.

Jess remained perched on the edge of her mattress. "How do I remind you of Jerry?"

"Well..." Jackal ticked off each argument on her fingers. "You're smart, agile, fast, and stronger than you look. I'd say that those reasons alone qualify you for 'Jerry-ness.'"

Jess snorted. "Not fast enough. I don't know how many times I've had to pick my butt up off the mat."

Jackal was quiet for a moment. "Were you ever in gymnastics, Jerry?"

"Shut up, Jackal," Hawk growled.

Jackal ignored her teammate. "Well?" she asked.

Jess smirked at the byplay between the two women – not an uncommon occurrence. She cocked an eyebrow at the question. "What makes you say that?"

Jackal smiled. "The backbends you do every morning to stretch kind of clued me in." Over on her bed, Hawk snorted, but was otherwise silent.

Jess thought for a moment, and realized she had to give Jackal that one. "Yeah, I was. Why?"

"Well, then, couldn't you use your skills on the mat?"

Jess said nothing, struck by the simple brilliance of the idea, as well as her own stupidity in not seeing it herself. "Jackal, my friend," she whispered, "you are a genius."

Jackal bowed from her half-sitting position and smiled wider. "I do try."

oOo

Jackal's advice didn't cure all of Jess' problems, but it did help. She didn't fall quite as much on the mat, and the obstacle course seemed slightly less challenging. She still tended to die in the Killing House, but she reasoned that she couldn't have everything in life, now could she? Finally, the three weeks were over and she was sent to meet with Alan Blunt and Mrs. Jones once more.

She left Brecon Beacons quite willingly, despite her destination. As she gazed out the window of the car at the Welsh countryside, she couldn't help but wonder about her partner, and what surprises were in store for them.

* * *

**A/N: I'm really, really sorry it's so short. Really.**

**Many thanks again to Khushbu Salazar for the beta job!  
**

**What's going to happen next? Will Jess and her partner – three guesses who that will be, by the way – be sent on a deadly mission by the dastardly Alan Blunt, or a less lethal one? Will Jess even make it to London? Read on to find out!**


	6. Chapter Five: A Partner

**A/N: Chappie 5! Jess is trained and seriously ticked at Alan Blunt and co. Anything exciting gonna happen? Any sparks/fists/explosive devices gonna fly?**

**Disclaimer: I'm not Anthony Horowitz, so do I own Alex Rider? Nuh-uh.**

Chapter Five: A Partner

* * *

At a small house in Chelsea, the phone rang. A young woman answered it, listened a moment.

"Alex, it's for you!" she yelled, holding the mouthpiece against her shoulder.

Alex Rider looked up from his science book and scowled. The quaver in Jack's voice told him that it wasn't good news. Although, honestly, nearly anything would be better than the paper he was struggling to write.

He got up and made his way to the nearest phone. He picked it up and said, "Hello?" It was only after the _click_ of Jack hanging up her end was heard that he got a response.

"Alex Rider," came the familiar – and very unwelcome – voice on the other end.

"What do you want, Blunt?" Alex's scowl deepened.

"I need you to come to the Royal and General, Alex. Can you be here in half an hour?"  
Alex sighed. "Do I have choice?"

There was silence for a second. "It would appear you do not." _Click._

oOo

Thirty minutes later, Alex found himself walking through the doors of the Liverpool Street entrance of the Royal and General bank, doors he had been hoping to never set foot through again. He really didn't know why he was here – he hated Alan Blunt and almost everything he stood for.

Almost.

Alex nodded to the receptionists behind the desk, who smiled and instructed him to go to the fifteenth floor. Alex did so, heading directly to Alan Blunt's office once he got there. He knocked, was called inside, and entered. He complied, shutting the door behind him.

What he saw in Blunt's office literally stopped him in his tracks.

It still looked much the same as it always did. It was boring, plain, and completely devoid of personality. Blunt sat behind his desk, Mrs. Jones by his side. In front of that desk were two chairs, and one was occupied. But not by a man, as Alex would have thought. No, the chair was occupied by a girl who couldn't possibly be any older than himself.

Alex took a good look at her as he obeyed Blunt's invitation to "sit down, please, Alex." She seemed to be tall, but it was hard to tell since she was sitting. She wore black jeans, combat boots, and a bright green tank top – bright enough that Alex was sure that his retinas had been seared clean away – underneath a black jean jacket. She was slim and graceful-looking, with ash-blonde hair pulled up into a high ponytail, fair skin, and bright blue eyes. Those eyes were currently turned on him – sizing him up in his turn, he was certain. She seemed vaguely familiar, though he couldn't think why – he had never met her, of that he was certain. Perhaps she reminded him of someone?

"Alex," Blunt said, startling Alex out of his reverie, "this is Jessica Fox."

Alex nodded to her, and she nodded back, unsmiling. Alex supposed that he would do the same, if their roles were reversed. He tuned back into the conversation in time to hear Blunt say, "Jessica, this is Alex Rider. He will be your partner on your mission."

Alex's eyes widened at those calm words. As if it wasn't enough for Blunt to drag him into the spy world at fourteen, now he had to "recruit" another kid? And a girl to boot? Not that he had any doubts as to girls' abilities – it just didn't seem right to shanghai a teenage girl into service.

Alex opened his mouth to say as much – and a bit else besides – when Blunt held up a hand and said, "Please, Alex, spare us your wrath." Alex thought he detected sarcasm in the man's words, but it was impossible to be certain. "Jessica is here purely of her own volition," Blunt continued. "Please, listen."

Alex didn't notice that Jessica narrowed her eyes at the penultimate statement, nor that her fingers tightened their grip on the arms of her chair. She said nothing, though, letting Alex lean back in his seat – he had unconsciously leaned forward in his anger – and say, "I'll listen. But don't expect me to like what I hear."

"You don't have to like it, Alex, merely listen to it." Blunt went on to explain about Dorian Roberts and M16's suspicions. Alex even saw the photograph. When Blunt finished speaking, he leaned back and waited for Alex to give an answer.

Alex thought for a few moments. He couldn't put into words how much he did _not_ want to accept the mission. He especially didn't want to be an accomplice in the girl's doom, if it came to that. Still, it definitely wouldn't be a bad idea to keep an eye on her. "You've gone to so much trouble, I'd hate to turn you down," he accepted sarcastically.

If Blunt was a different person, Alex was sure he would have smiled. As it was, he merely said, "Excellent. You'll leave tomorrow for Barcelona, where one of our operatives will pick you up and brief you further. For now, go on down to see Smithers; I'm sure he has a thing or two for you."

Mrs. Jones gave them directions, Blunt dismissed the pair, and they left the office. Alex led the way to Smithers' domain. He remained silent the entire way, and Jessica did nothing to convince him to do otherwise. Eventually, mercifully, they arrived at the proper door, and Alex, being closest, knocked.

"Come in," came Smithers' hearty welcome from the other side of the door.

They acquiesced, and Smithers looked up from his desk, where he had been tinkering with some unidentifiable thing. "Alex, m'boy!" he exclaimed jovially as they entered. "And you must be the new girl," he continued, turning to Jessica. "Pleasure to meet you, m'dear." He held out a meaty hand for her to shake.

She took it, smiling, her slim fingers nearly disappearing into Smithers' hand. Still, she said nothing.

"Well," Smithers said after a slightly awkward silence, "you two need gadgets, am I right?" Not even allowing them time to answer, he continued, "Course I'm right. Why else would you be down here? Now, if you'll hold on a moment-" he started opening and closing drawers in his desk- "I'll – maybe – find your stuff...Ah-hah!" he cried triumphantly, having apparently found the correct drawer. He pulled it completely open, exposing its contents. He pulled them out one by one and placed them in a small row on the desk.

"Now, I must admit, I've never made anything for a teenage girl before," he began, speaking to Jessica, "so you'll just have to kind of roll with me. Okay?" She nodded, still silent. "Okay. Then let's begin."

He held up a tube of what appeared to be lip gloss. "Ladies first. This stuff will eat through almost anything. I'm not entirely sure of the extent of its effects on human skin, so be careful with it."

Jessica nodded and took the tube. Smithers picked up a plain black hair tie and explained, "This here is much, much stronger and more elastic than it looks. I'm talking superhero-grade here. You could practically use it to stop a plane from taking off." At that, Alex and Jessica raised their eyebrows in disbelief. "Okay, so it's not that strong. But it's pretty close." Smiling, he handed the tie over to Jessica.

He turned now to Alex. "As for you, I have a couple things I think you'll like." He lifted what looked like an eraser. "As I understand it, you'll be doing your preliminary reconnaissance as part of a school group, so this won't be conspicuous. This will mold itself to any conventional lock, and harden. Stick one of the narrow ends up against a lock, wait about ten seconds, and hey presto, you've got yourself a key." He gave Alex the eraser and grasped a key ring, complete with key chains.

"This is the little one I'm most proud of. This key chain-" he pointed out a small, circular piece of black metal- "is actually an explosive device. Notice the dots? Press them in a certain sequence, and the chain turns into a mini-bomb. The rest are just for show, honestly." He demonstrated the bomb's activation sequence to Alex, then showed both of them the last two items – mobile phones.

"Um, Smithers?" Alex began, but the gadget maker quickly shushed him.

"Trust me, Alex. These are actually quite genius, if I do say so myself. They're much like normal mobiles – they don't call anyone, though, I'm warning you now – but they're so much better. Teenagers text, right? They text _a lot_. So it won't be unusual for the two of you to be texting during the tour, which I'm certain will be utterly boring." His lips twitched in a smile as he continued. "In fact, these puppies provide a direct line to M16, so you can report anything unusual you might find. You can also text each other in situations where it would be a bad idea for you to speak."

"But wouldn't they be able to figure out we were talking to each other?" Alex interrupted.

Smithers grinned. "Ah, that's where the real genius comes in. I built a special feature in here that will delay the receiving of texts from the other phone for random intervals. You'll also get the occasional blank text, just to throw them off. That make sense?"

Alex nodded slowly. "I don't know how you do it, Smithers."

His grin widened. "What can I say, I'm a genius." He handed the two phones to Alex and Jessica, leaving the desk free of all gadgets except the one he had been working on.

"Good luck, you two," Smithers said.

"Thanks," Alex replied. "For the gadgets and the luck. I have a feeling we'll need both."

oOo

Alex walked out the doors of the bank with a feeling of intense relief, Jessica by his side. He turned to face her and said, "Jessica-"

"Jess." It was the first word she had spoken since he met her. She had an accent, but he couldn't quite place it from the single word. Scottish, perhaps?

"Huh?" _Oh, yeah, real smooth_, he thought.

"Call me Jess," she clarified, flicking the end of her ponytail of her shoulder.

"Okay, then...Jess." Not Scottish – Irish. "I hope you know what you're getting into-"

"I do," she interrupted coolly.

"Okay...good." Alex rubbed the back of his neck, her suddenness having disrupted his train of thought. His next question finally came back to him, and he blurted, "What do you think of Blunt?"

Her face darkened. "I think he can go fall off a cliff." She hesitated over the f in "fall," making Alex think that she was about to say something else. He didn't comment on it, though, choosing instead to smile.

"I think we're going to get along just fine," he said.

* * *

**A/N: Yes, Jess was going to say that Blunt could go f*** himself. Naughty, naughty Jess! What would your mother say, young lady? Oh, wait, you don't know (but I do xD). What would your aunt say, young lady? :)**

**I have to say, I had a lot of fun writing Smithers. He didn't get a lot of page time *sniff* but still, he's a really interesting character to write.**

**Thanks to Articwolfstudios for clearing up my British language issues, and to Khushbu Salazar for betaing!**

**Reviewers get virtual prizes. Hint, hint...**


	7. Chapter Six: Off to Spain

******A/N: Before this chapter begins, I would like to lay to rest any and all concerns about Jess' Mary Sue-ness. I'm trying my best to make sure that she does NOT turn into a Mary Sue. Alex **_**will**_** be the better spy – heck, Alex may even be **_**the**_** spy. She has a severe phobia that will definitely come into play and may even come close to costing them the mission – I'm not certain yet. I'll go ahead and say right now that there is an aspect to this story that has been done before – I'm not telling you what, you'll find out in a later chapter – but I had no idea that this was so when I began the story. And no, I couldn't change that aspect because the title is tied to it. xP So, I just wanted to reassure y'all of that, because I've had a couple of reviews expressing concerns about Jess turning into a Mary Sue. That being said...Onward! Lol**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Alex Rider, the ****_Lord of the Rings_****franchise,**** Boeing (the makers of 747s, if I remember correctly), or even a pack of gum. *sniffle***

Chapter Six: Off to Spain

* * *

After saying good-bye to Alex in front of the bank, Jess made her way to the hospital where her aunt was staying. She received directions from the receptionist and took the stairs to the second floor – she didn't think she could ride in another elevator without thinking of MI6.

Upon exiting the stairwell, she got her bearings and set off for room 227. Easing the door open, she peered inside. She was startled to find herself praying that Lynn was asleep. She knew she shouldn't have been surprised – after all, she had been gone for nearly a month.

She was out of luck. Lynn was wide awake and reading. She glanced up as the door opened, her face breaking into a wide grin. "Jessie!" she cried happily, using Jess' childhood nickname.

Jess made her way over, smiling in her turn. "Hi, Aunt Lynn," she replied, leaning down to hug her.

They sat and talked for a long time. Jess avoided questions about her whereabouts, and eventually Lynn stopped asking. Jess was grateful for that, as well as the fact that Lynn was healing well. She was curious, though, as to why she was still in the hospital three weeks after being shot.

"They said there were complications," Lynn explained, making a clearly disbelieving face. "I don't mind it, though," she continued. "The people are nice, the food is actually decent, and I don't have to wash the dishes!"

Jess laughed. "But that's my job!"

"That you hardly ever do," Lynn rebutted.

"I guess I have to give you that one," Jess conceded.

When a nurse came in and told Jess that visiting hours were over, the girl left reluctantly, careful not to make any promises as to when she would see Lynn again.

_That went well,_ she thought as she descended the stairs.

oOo

Lynn sat in her hospital bed, her book open in front of her, unseen. She thought about her niece's visit.

Jess had been tense, nervous. She had dodged every question about why she hadn't visited – that made Lynn nervous herself. Jess had never kept secrets from her. Oh, sure, there was the incident a few years back when Jess had amassed a small army of fruit flies for a genetics experiment that she "neglected" to mention, but that had been years ago. Now, Jess was totally honest with Lynn, if not always open.

Today, though...Jess was hiding something. Lynn was certain of it. And she couldn't shake the feeling that it was something big, and very, very bad.

oOo

Jess did not sleep well that night, tortured by dreams filled with angels, demons, and sharp pieces of something shiny that could have been knives or shards of glass. Later, she would alternately look on them as premonitions or sugar-induced weirdness – she had eaten several candy bars to keep herself awake as she packed. Either way, at ten o'clock the next morning, she sat in the terminal at London Heathrow Airport, next to a boy she barely knew, waiting for a flight to somewhere she would really rather not go.

She had read Alex's file – what she was allowed to read, anyway. She knew about the Stormbreaker incident and why he was involved in the first place. She didn't know him as a person, though – only as words on a sterile, dispassionate government report. As a result, she wasn't entirely sure what to make of him.

The mission, on the other hand...she knew exactly what to make of that. She shouldn't be doing it. She should be waiting patiently for her aunt to recover. Instead, she was being blackmailed into risking her life for someone so that that someone could pull a few strings. Yeah, it was a perfect situation. She mentally rolled her eyes at her own sarcasm - that was another habit to try to kick. She should probably concentrate on one resolution at a time, though. She was doing pretty well with the not-swearing one, and didn't want to slip up just because she was concentrating on not being sarcastic. Although-

"Sucks, doesn't it?" Alex interrupted her musings.

"Yeah, it does." Whether he referred to their mission, her being there, _his_ being there...every part of it completely and utterly sucked.

Alex opened his mouth to respond, but before he did, they heard the announcement that their flight was boarding. With simultaneous sighs, they reached for their carry-on bags and walked onto the jet.

Halfway into the flight, Alex glanced over at his partner, who hadn't said a word. He smirked. No wonder she had been so quiet – she was reading. He tilted his head to better read the title.

The motion must have caught her eye, because she said, "Return of the king."

He looked at her. "What?" he asked smoothly.

"The book," she clarified. "It's _The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King._"

"Ah." Alex didn't really know what else to say. Naturally, his mouth then decided that he was going to speak with or without his brain's input. "So you like fantasy?" Instantly he winced, inwardly yelling at himself for asking such a stupid and obvious question.

She didn't seem to mind, though. Smiling, she marked her place, closed the book, and faced him directly. "Yeah," she said, "I do."

"Didn't know that." And again, his mouth acted independently. But at least she was talking back, he reasoned.

"You had no reason to," she was saying. "We haven't exactly talked – unless you count a grand total of a dozen or so sentences. Which, personally, I don't."

Alex couldn't help but smile. "Okay, then – so let's talk."

"About?"

"Well..." Alex trailed off as he tried to figure out how to phrase what was going through his head.

"Do you want to go first, or do you want me to?" Jess prompted, saving him from something potentially embarrassing.

Smiling his thanks, he said, "I will."

So he talked – about how his parents had died when he was young, about how he had been raised by his uncle until about a month prior, about Jack. He even told her about how his uncle had died. He figured that if he couldn't talk to – if he couldn't trust – his partner, who could he?

At the end of his pseudo-monologue, Jess sat back in her seat. "Whoa," she whispered. "That's a lot for one person."

Alex nodded. "Yup."

Jess sat in silence for a moment more, perhaps absorbing what she had heard. Then she said, "Guess it's my turn now, huh?"

Alex nodded again, biting back a grin. "Yup," he repeated.

Jess rolled her eyes, but began to speak.

Over the next half hour or so, Alex learned that Jess had grown up in Ireland, but moved to Southwark soon after she graduated. When Alex expressed his surprise on the matter, she smiled – a little wistfully, he thought.

"Yeah, I graduated when I was about a month shy of thirteen." She paused. "Wasn't long after that I dropped out of gymnastics, actually," she mused aloud.

"You were in gymnastics?"

"Yeah, that's pretty much how I got through training without broken bones."

"How'd you do that?"

Jess smiled a half-secret, half-wicked smile. "People tend to make mistakes when someone smaller than them keeps avoiding them," she said.

"What on Earth does that mean?"

"It means that I tend to be more agile, flexible, however you want to word it, than grown, bulky men."

"I see."

She went on to talk about how she lived with her aunt because her mother had died in childbirth, because even though it wasn't as common as it used to be, "I was always stubborn, even as a baby. My aunt said – how did she word it? I was 'determined to stay where it was warm.'" She smiled, but the expression quickly faded. "The doctors did everything they could, but..." she trailed off with a shrug.

Alex was quiet for a moment. "I'm sorry," he finally said. "But-" he hesitated.

"But what?"

"What about your father?"

Jess sighed. "I never knew him," she said. "And before you think what I'm pretty sure you're thinking, let me explain." She looked hard at Alex for a moment. "Unfortunately, all I can tell you is what my aunt told me. According to her – and I have no reason to disbelieve her – my mother disappeared twenty years ago. Left the house where she lived with her parents and sister and never went back. For all her family knew, she was dead, or kidnapped, or something else horrible. But a few days before I was born, she went to her sister, alone. She wore a wedding ring, but only mentioned her husband once."

"Your father?" Alex interrupted, against his better judgment.

"Yes," Jess answered, seeming not to mind. "While she was telling my aunt about why she was there, she said that he had died – Aunt Lynn never pressed for details. Two days after that, she – my mother – went into labor. At the hospital, she told my aunt that the child's name – my name – was to be Jessica. Jessica Rhiannon. A contraction kept her from giving the last name, and she was wheeled away before she could catch her breath. After that..." she swallowed hard. "After that she never got a chance to tell the doctors. I don't think she ever even got to hold me."

Alex was silent for a moment. "I'm sorry," he said simply.

Jess sniffed – Alex hadn't even realized she had been crying. "S'okay," she said thickly as she dug in her carry-on, presumably for a tissue.

Five minutes or so later, the captain announced that they were beginning their descent and to please fasten their seatbelts. Jess checked hers as she muttered, to no one in particular, "God, I hate flying."

Alex raised his eyebrows in surprise. "What? You're one of the calmest people I've seen on a plane. That I know personally," he added quickly.

Jess smiled bitterly. "That's because I'm jacked up on Dramamine. The magic motion sickness pills, you know? I learned from my mistake when I flew in from Ireland."

"Ah," Alex said, scooting to the far edge of his seat almost unconsciously.

Jess noticed the movement and snickered. "I'm not gonna hurl, O Brave One, if that's what you're afraid of," she said, taking out a pack of chewing gum. "Want a piece?" she offered, sticking her own in her mouth. "It helps."

Alex took the stick gratefully as the 747 dropped into its descent pattern over the Barcelona International Airport.

* * *

**A/N: A paltry offering, I know, given when I last updated. BUT IT'S A CHAPTER! Right?**

**Right?**

**Anyway, many thanks to authorEmilyRay for the beta job and for being so darn awesome. :D**


	8. Author's note

Okay, basically...ignore what this chapter used to say. XD

As the summary now says, this story has been adopted by Sapphire2309. She (I'm assuming by her name that she's a girl :P) is also working on another story, and says that she's not sure how she'll handle two plot lines. However, I'm sure she'll do her best. :) Thanks so much to you, my readers, and thanks so much to Saph! :D

-Sunda


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